FUTURE RISK Read online

  “Anessa!” Bennett yells.

  I turn back for a moment. “They shot him in my bakery, Bennett,” I answer like it’s simple, but really my insides are tight and full of anxiety. Selfish in a sense, but riding in the ambulance will help take my mind off what’s gone on here. I’m not ready to work through it yet.

  I’d rather leave the bakery behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The small ring I wear on my right hand catches on the fabric of my apron. I need to take it off. The once bright pink fabric is now covered with large patches of red. They’re slowly becoming crusty as they dry. It’s enough to make my stomach roll if I think about it. So I try not to. Instead I stare at the light blue walls of the hospital waiting room.

  I need to get up and throw the apron away. Find a bathroom and wash the matching color from my hands. But what I should do, what I need to do, and what I want to do are all things my body can’t do in this moment. The paramedics directed me to the small waiting room off the side of the ER less than ten minutes ago. I plopped my ass in one of the uncomfortable plastic grey chairs and haven’t moved since.

  My legs seem to have forgotten how to carry me places. Not that I know where to go if they could.

  “Where the hell is she?” a voice booms from right outside the waiting room door.

  Before he receives an answer, Bennett sticks his head in. He lets loose a stream of air and his body visibly relaxes when our eyes make contact. A small bit of my anxiety leaves at the same time. Something about having him here to watch over me is soothing.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone much softer than a few moments ago. He approaches like I’m a wounded animal, with slow and consistent steps.

  I look down at my blood-painted body. “I think so.”

  “You need to let someone look you over to be safe. There were a lot of bullets flying.” He takes a seat next to me, but doesn’t invade my space.

  “Can you please not mention the bullets?” My eyes well up bringing forth my first sign of tears. I’ve been wondering when those would make an appearance. Quite frankly I’ve handled this better than most people would, in my opinion, so I’m allowed a small breakdown and a few tears.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Bennett wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “He’s going to be okay.”

  “No, he isn’t.” There was a man shot in my bakery and he lost buckets of blood on my floor. You don’t have to be an ER nurse or have combat training to know his odds aren’t good. I wipe away a tear before it falls.

  Bennett sighs. “Pearl stayed at the bakery to make sure everything was okay and talk to the police, but they will probably ask you questions too.”

  The bakery and police questions are the least of my concerns. “Is Pearl okay?” A fresh wave of guilt washes over me when I realize I hadn’t stopped to think of her all.

  The spunky older woman is oftentimes the only customer Tabitha and I have in the early afternoon hours after the midday rush. It gives us time to chat and get to know one another. The woman has more stories than a library and, while I’m not sure all of them are true, she’s one of my favorite people in this new city. The last few weeks have made her a surrogate grandma.

  Bennett laughs and it echoes off the waiting room walls, the ill-timed sound something they likely rarely hear. “You should see her. That old lady is good in a crisis. She’s telling everyone what to do.”

  He doesn’t make me feel a bit better. Pearl is out there somewhere taking control of the situation while I’m in a hospital waiting room crying, which is doing no one any good. “I’m sorry about crying.” I wipe under my eyes with the backs of my hands.

  “Anessa, after what happened you’re allowed to cry.” He squeezes me tighter.

  “No one else is crying,” I hiccup over the words in between sobs.

  “I have combat experience and a penis. As for Pearl, I have no evidence, but that woman has seen shit in her day.” He takes one of my hands in his. “Hippies. You never know.”

  Bennett stands from the chair and tugs on the hands he has looped together with his. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask but allow him to pull me from the chair before he answers. I don’t have the strength to resist.

  “You need to wash your hands.” He says it is so matter-of-factly I don’t question further. I must look absolutely horrible, but I’ve not allowed my eyes to take in anything besides my dirty apron. It’s nice to give him my trust and let him handle the situation. This time.

  Bennett practically carries me through the waiting room. I lean all my weight against his broad shoulders and let my feet shuffle me past the dirty carpet on to the hospital lobby tile flooring.

  “Sir, your car.” A short hospital employee stands from her spot behind the dark wooden information desk.

  Bennett doesn’t stop or even look in her direction. “Tow it.” We walk toward a heavy wooden door with a blue sign attached to the front, the person in pants not a dress. “Get me some towels,” he barks back at the receptionist.

  Bennett stretches a long arm, pushing open the door so our steps don’t slow. He keeps me tucked next to him until we stop in front of a long row of urinals to face the sinks directly across the room.

  “This is the men’s bathroom,” I whisper leaning into him and catching a whiff of his spicy cologne.

  He doesn’t pay a second of attention to my statement but turns both handles of the sink, adjusting the water temperature.

  “Bennett, I can’t be in here.”

  He gently guides my hands under the flow of water. “See what happens to the first guy who says something.”

  There’s a few minutes of peace as I rub my hands together under the warm water while Bennett takes care of me. He peels the apron away from my body and rubs soap over my hands. The water turns from blood red to clear again as the men’s bathroom door opens. The small hospital employee peeks in, passing over two large towels to Bennett.

  “Get me a pair of scrubs too.” His gruffness doesn’t allow room for questions.

  “What size?”

  “What size does she look?”

  The door closes and Bennett signals to keep rubbing my palms together even though the water is clear. “I don’t need scrubs.”

  “Yeah, babe, you do,” he says shutting off the water and wrapping my hands in one of the towels to dry them.

  My crying has slowly decreased over the last few minutes and I take my first few breaths without gasping for air as he pats my fingers dry. The door to the bathroom opens again and Bennett grabs a light blue pair of scrub pants.

  “Do you need my help or do you think you can change yourself?” he asks, not handing over the pants.

  “I’ll be fine.” I grab the clothing and use my own two feet to enter the second stall, it’s the larger of the two. More than large enough to change clothes in.

  “I’m going to wait right outside the door. If you’re not out there in a few minutes, I’m coming back in to check on you.” With his warning, the door squeaks as it opens and then clicks closed.

  I lean up against the wall of the bathroom stall taking a moment to gather my wits before I change. In doing so my eyes fall to my lower half where bright red stains cover both my knees, the placement exactly where the two large red patches had been on my apron. Oh.

  Bennett’s insistence on getting me scrubs finally kicks in. With a little more work, I tug my firm, blood soaked jeans off my legs and replace them with the blue scrub pants. There’s dried blood on the skin of my knees, but I don’t have the ability to wash it off now. Not unless I plan to prance around the men’s bathroom pantless… which I do not.

  The door opens as I walk out. Bennett takes the pair of jeans I’d folded up nicely from my hands and deposits them in the large trash can by the bathroom door. “Won’t someone want those as evidence?”

  “This her?” a man I’ve never seen before asks before Bennett can answer my question. The newcomer is dressed similarly to Mad Dog, and the various patches on his vest steal my attention as he strides toward me.

  Bennett wraps his arm around my shoulders and stands with his feet apart. “Yup.”

  “Okay, let’s talk.” The tall, dark brown-haired biker with two sleeves of tattoos walks into the waiting room.

  Bennett follows and so by proxy I tag along beside him. The outer wall of the waiting room is lined with chairs. The biker, obviously here for Mad Dog, selects a chair on the far side of the room and then Bennett pushes me down in one closer to the door. There’s a huge carpeted open space between us. The newcomer jerks on the edges of his vest and flashes Bennett a look. One I’m not quite sure of. Annoyance more than likely. It’s like the biker equivalent of an eye roll. My body clenches, worried he’s taken offense to our position, but another second passes and he laughs, shaking his head when Bennett tightens his grip around my shoulders.

  “This the way it’s gonna be, huh?”

  Bennett doesn’t miss a beat in their man-only conversation. “Yup.”

  “Have you heard any news on Dog?” the stranger asks.

  “Not yet, but it doesn’t look good.” Bennett and the biker make matching faces of sorrow. “Why did you and your boys get involved, Dom?”

  Dom? He’s not a Spike or Bone Crusher? “Dom? It’s so normal.” I accidentally blurt out in the middle of their conversation. It’s been a long day.

  Dom raises an eyebrow in my direction and Bennett squeezes my shoulder again. “It’s Dominic, the Impaler.”

  Ohhh. That makes more sense. “Why?” Shut up, Nessa.

  “The whole name gets a little long. I stick to Dom for most cases.” He crosses a leg over the other, his ankle resting on a knee.

  “No, I mean why the Impaler?”

  This question he laughs at. “For my favorite way of killing someone.”

  I rear back in my seat, hitting Bennett’s arm hard. He clears his throat next to me. “Let’s stay on track. Why were you at the bakery?”

  “Are you trying to keep me from visiting one of my guys?” Dom leans forward and the air thickens to the point I don’t risk breathing.

  “No, but your eyes haven’t left Anessa, and as she’s in my protection, I’m curious.”

  “She’s yours, huh?”

  “She’s in my protection.” Bennett squeezes and his fingertips dig into my shoulder.

  Dom laughs. “You don’t need to protect her from me, Bennett. I appreciate her humanity in treating one of my own like a person. Not everyone would. I heard she rode in the ambulance. That takes guts.”

  Why are they talking about me like I’m not sitting in both of their lines of sight? Still, even though it’s annoying, I don’t speak up and risk drawing more attention to myself. I’ve asked enough stupid questions for the day.

  “Why was Mad Dog at the bakery?” Bennett again asks the question Dom hasn’t answered.

  “Kevin, the previous renter was running money for the mob out of New York. Everyone knew that. Either Ridge is horribly bad at his job or he’s keeping important facts to himself.”

  “And last I heard your gang associates with the Capri family not the Zanettis. Has that changed?”

  “You mean since the last time Ridge tried to bug my clubhouse?” Dom settles back in his chair, at ease. “No, it hasn’t changed.”

  “Then I’ll ask you again, why was Mad Dog at the bakery? He on the outs with you? Was this some kind of friendly fire situation?”

  “Are you implying I’d take out one of my own guys in a bakery on Main Street? Do you take me for a dumb fuck?”

  “I’m trying to figure out why your guy is in my girl’s bakery at the same time it gets shot up.”

  Did Bennett say my girl?

  Focus, Nessa.

  “Because your girl,” see! Dom heard it too, “has two hundred and fifty thousand dollars hidden away in her bakery and I like money. Figured we could get in and get out before the Zanetti boys knew the money was gone.”

  Two hundred and fifty thousand? I fan my face. Did it get hot in here? That’s the most anyone has suggested was stashed away in my wall. Has Ridge counted the money? Is this confirmed?

  Dom laughs more. He’s obviously forgotten we’re in a hospital and his friend has been shot. “I didn’t realize you were already attached to the… project.”

  He says “the project” but he’s looking at me with a smirk while he does, which leads me to believe he thinks I’m the project here.

  Bennett isn’t as amused. His fingers dig deeper into my shoulder as his grip tightens. I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. “Well, as you see, we are attached to the project. So you and your boys can back off.”

  Both men lean forward in their seats. Bennett’s hand falls away from my shoulder as his body tenses, ready to stand at a moment’s notice.

  “The boys at the compound don’t appreciate being bossed around,” Dom says leaning so far in his chair I fear he’ll fall out.

  Bennett matches his pose. “Them or you? Because it seems they take orders from their fearless leader fine. I doubt Mad Dog was at the bakery on his own recognizance.”

  The two men stare one other down and, as I’m worried the tension will boil over, a throat clears at the entrance to the waiting room. All three of us swivel our heads in the direction of the noise. A tall, gorgeous, blue-eyed, blond-haired Doctor stands in the area where the carpet meets the tile. He hesitates, but after passing both men a knock-it-off look, he takes a step into the room.

  “I’m Dr. Nick James, are all of you here for Jeremy Hayes?”

  The three of us stand at the same time, not in anger but out of respect for the injured. And the need to know more.

  Only Dom speaks, his hands falling to his sides. “The rest of the men are at the compound. I’m here to bring them good news.”

  Dr. Nick’s face falls, his lips a tight straight line. “I’m sorry. He put up a good fight, but in the end the blood loss was too much and he didn’t make it.”

  Dom sits down in the chair behind him, the plastic back hitting the painted wall. My little toe inches closer to Dom, to provide him a moment of comfort and friendship. Big and tough on the outside, I suspect there’s a nicer guy underneath all the leather and scruff. My foot twitches to move, but Bennett holds me back.

  “Give him a minute,” he whispers in my ear.

  But Dom doesn’t need a minute. Before Bennett pulls his head away from my ear, Dom’s up again. Three long strides and he’s walked the distance of the room, stopping a few inches from us. “This is our fight now,” he says leaning close to Bennett but not touching him.

  “The last thing this town needs is more bullets, Dom.” The doctor turns and walks out of the room leaving the three of us alone.

  “Well that’s what it’s going to get.”

  Bennett places himself in front of the angry biker until they’re almost nose to nose. “Don’t put us against each other. Ridge is not someone you want to go up against. We’ll handle Zanetti.”

  Dom laughs and takes a step back. “Your boss might not play by many rules, but I don’t play by any.”

  He takes another step back and turns to the door. Before he walks out, he stops and points a finger my direction. “Keep Ms. Pretty in Pink close too. It’s your fault she’s involved in this mess.”

  “Are you threatening her?” With one of his long thick arms, Bennett tries to push me behind him, using his solid body as a wall of protection.

  “Nope, but the Zanettis will use all the cards at their disposable.”

  “Don’t worry about Anessa. I’m stuck to her like glue.”

  Dom shakes his head and takes a step out the door. “That’s why. You’ve made her the queen in the deck of their game.”

  “Shit.” Bennett’s cuss follows Dom out of the room.

  The missing presence is quickly replaced by Ridge’s lumbering body. The two men give one another a head jerk in greeting before Ridge speaks.

  “Heard the news. Get her out of here.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The doors to Ridge’s security building are tall and glass, the words Pelican Bay Security etched out in the frosted glass. It’s nothing at all like what I expect his building to look like. To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought except for the few minutes it took to drive here from the hospital. So I guess, in a way, it’s a perfect example of what a group of rough tough ex-military guys would have for an office.

  Bennett uses one of his long, thick arms to push open the door, holding it so I can walk in. My steps end abruptly when I reach the middle of a large room. Everything, and I mean everything, is grey. The carpet, the chairs, even the walls are painted a light smoky grey color. This is much more of what I expected from a business run by men. In the middle of the room a large dark wooden desk sits at an angle to greet people as they enter.

  Except, there’s no one sitting behind it. The desktop is neat and orderly. A flat screen monitor and keyboard use up a small portion of one side. On the other a big, thick black phone rests on an edge. A single light in the top corner flashes red.

  Bennett keeps right on walking. I resume my pace, but much slower, my attention falling on the flashing light as we pass by. “Your receptionist has messages.”

  It’s such a stupid thing to say at this point in time, but the fact the messages haven’t been listened to annoys me enough to break through the jumbled mess of every other emotion waging a war in my mind.

  With a tilt of his head, Bennett spares less than a second of a glance at the flickering light. He laughs. “Yeah, we don’t have a receptionist. Anyone Ridge wants to work with isn’t calling that number.”

  Then who is calling it? I want to ask, but I don’t because the main door opens again. This time Ridge rumbles through.

  “Spencer’s all set up.” Ridge scans the desk I’m staring at as he speaks but doesn’t seem concerned enough to stop and check the messages either. He walks a straight line right through the lobby, swipes his thumb quickly over a pad by another grey metal door and then keeps on walking.

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